Blood, Sweat, and Tears
by Rae chan1
Summary: *Re-introduced!* Dreams haunt us all... Duo has dreams about being a vampire. Can he tell fact from fiction, or is it all the truth? Warning: Yaoi 1x2
1. Blood

**Blood**, Sweat, and Tears

  


I want to tell my story. I want you to listen, because if you don't, something terrible might happen to a lot of innocent people. Will you listen? Let the storyteller unravel his tale. Let it sweep you away to a land far, far away…

  


The Night of Darkness 

_~Chapter One~_

  


In the streets of L2, many people like myself prowl the streets. There are only a few occupations in which the night will keep: licensed companions, assassins, thieves, and vampires. You can guess which one I am. That's right; I'm a vamp. Even if I weren't, my thirst of blood would still make me seem like one.

I hope I haven't scared you away yet. We have only just begun. See, there is so much going on in this little town that I need to share with you. Like who I am choosing for my next meal.

His name is not important to you. In fact, almost nothing should be important. But you still want to know, so I'll help you out. He is Japanese, and was born amongst others like him on L1. He has Prussian blue eyes, messy black hair, and a tattoo of a blue rose bleeding black blood on his lower back. Interesting, isn't he? That's what I think.

And now I suppose you want to know who I am. I don't like giving out names, so I'll just tell you what I look like. I have violet eyes, long chestnut brown hair (that is usually tied back into a braid), and I am, naturally, American born, but am native to this colony.

So here I am. Ready for work, as usual. It is 11:04 at night, standard Eastern Time, and time for my meal. So if you will excuse me, I need to feed myself. 

I head down the alley that smells like rotten fish and cat feces. Lovely smell. As I turn the corner, a pass a couple of druggies. They offer me some, but I turn them down, saving a lot of time and trouble. A few blocks down, I stop and grab the railing of a rusty staircase. It is used for the top rooms of the apartment that I am in front of, therefore giving me some real easy access to the room I'm really interested in.

I climb the stairs. The window is open, letting in the polluted city air. Inside the screen, someone is sleeping. He is the one I want. His blood is going to fuse with mine, until I am satisfied. I remove the screen with patience. It comes off silently. I climb into the room, my footsteps inaudible. Not even a mouse can hear me.

I hover above his lips, feeling his warm breath tickle my nose. He knows not that I am here because he is asleep, dreaming about a lover, a friend, someone in his family, anything.

Something makes my stomach tie into knots. What is wrong with me? The pale moonlight fades away. Seconds, minutes, hours pass. This cannot happen to me. I think I have…

The sudden flash of lightning outside interrupts my thought. Thunder erupts behind it, but it is still far away. I decide it is best if I just get this over and get as far away as possible.

My head tilts to the side, smelling the masculine scent of musk lingering on the man's neck. He must have had a date last night with an incredibly special woman to wear it. It makes my stomach tie up again. 

Before I can think anymore, my vision starts to blur and fangs sprout from my canines. They touch the man's neck, not drawing blood yet. I lick the long, exposed column of white, tasting the skin. He tastes like fresh watermelon. It must be the type of soap he uses.

I start to sink my fangs into his throat when I feel the cold barrel of a gun rested against my skull. His deep blue eyes open slowly. Guess he wasn't asleep, after all, huh? He doesn't flinch at the small trickle of blood traveling down his jugular. All he does is stare into my eyes, without blinking.

He asks, "Who are you and what are you doing here?" without raising his voice over a whisper. I respond.

"Duo Maxwell, carrying out a mission, which is my own priority."

"Do I know you?"

"No," I answer. "But I know you."

His eyes seem to say, "Well, obviously.", but who wants to know? He closes those eyes again. He says in monotone, "You want to kill me."

"Yes. I _am_ a vampire. And I'm hungry."

"Really. Why don't you remove yourself from my house, before I blow you away," he continues, gently tapping the frigid gun against my head.

I can escape with no problems. But a part of me wants to stay; the scary thing is… I think it's my heart.

  


~~TBC


	2. Sweat

  


Blood, **Sweat**, and Tears

_~Chapter Two~_

_The Night Turns Morn Again_

  


The silence is almost unbearable. Why doesn't he say anything? I look deep into his intense blue eyes and I know something, not just because fireworks are going off right where his hand is on my ear, and not just because of the tightening of the knots in my stomach; but because I know _he_ is the one. The one that you know is your soul mate as soon as you see them. This man, that I have known for no more than five minutes, is my soul mate.

Wow. The discovery is as much a surprise as the time I first found out I was a vampire. And this one is much better, in my opinion.

We sit in silence for another thirty seconds or so until my breath becomes ragged and shaky. I don't really know what's happening to me, but I kinda like it! A smile moves around my fangs and I watch as the man grimaces. 

"Something wrong?" I ask.

"Your fangs."

"Yes, I've had them all my life. What about them?" I ask hesitantly.

"They are bleeding," he answers slowly, almost like he doesn't want me to know.

"I suppose so," I say, "because I have bitten you, or so I remember." This guy is sounding more and more like a flake than I think possible. But something brings me back to what he said. I did bite him, didn't I?

"No, you didn't."

A realization comes over me. Can it be possible that I am dreaming? That when I wake up, this will all be the aftermath of some delusional figment of my imagination?

WAKE UP!!!! I tell myself. It works, and I start to feel the sweaty sheets beneath me. Warm sunlight filters through the curtain-drawn window as I open my eyes. "Good morning Duo, welcome to the real world," I say aloud, as it is nice to hear your own voice when you aren't sure of what might happen next.

It seems as though I have run out of milk-and I need to get more if I want Cheerios for a late lunch-as I look through the small fridge of my run-of-the-mill apartment. Oh well, I tell myself, I'll just have to go outside and get some.

But as I step out of the apartment building in a white tee shirt, shorts, and flip-flops, I feel a sharp pain on my skin, as if I had purplish-blue sunburn on every skin cell of my body. It felt as if I was melting, and this was new to me. I stepped out from the sun's rays and continued down the street under store overhangs or in shadows with my chin pressed hard against my chest.

I got into the air-conditioned store as fast as my legs could carry me. And, surprisingly, that is pretty fast. Something must have happened in that dream--which I can't remember--that is spooking me. That's the bad part about dreams: when you want to remember it, it disappears into thin air.

Now I am at the counter, paying for my carton of milk. The cashier is a young man, roughly eighteen, with blonde hair and aqua blue eyes. His name tag says that his name is 'Quatre' and he'd like to help you in any way he can. Somehow that makes me think that I'm in a porno shop rather than a grocery store.

"Thank you," I say as I gather my bag and walk out of the store. I see a few of my neighborhood friends on the block and wave. They wave back.

What a happy little world I live in.

I see a shadow out of the corner of my eye follow me down the street. I guess it's another one of those druggies. After all, I live in a city full of violence and hatred, disgust and anger. Why wouldn't they want to pull me into their little world where people are green and the grass is yellow? This keeps my mind occupied whilst the figure keeps pace with me. I ignore it, naturally.

I take the steps up to my room three at a time. It feels so good to be away from the heat of the day, not to mention the sunlight. That's funny, it never bothered me before… 

When I turn the key in the door, blinding light rains down upon me. I run to close all the blinds and pull the curtains over the transparent glass. _What has gotten into you?_ my mind asks itself. I keep that thought away from the outer realms of my mind as well.

I open the refrigerator door and unscrew the light bulb. As I put the milk away, I suddenly realize that I have no hunger pains like I did twenty minutes ago. Maybe it's the weather or something.

An invisible force pulls me toward the door. Maybe it's the mailman, just the mailman. But as the door creaks open as it always has, I see an oozing pool of blood.

It isn't a mass murderer that has raped, killed, and left a body at my doorstep, but is a dead rat. In most cases, I suppose, I would have kicked the thing down the three stories between the open spiral staircase. But I surprised myself again by kneeling down and gently picking up the dead creature.

Most people would say, "Eww! Don't touch that thing! It will give you thousands of incurable diseases that will cause you to never be able to breathe without help for the rest of the time left you still have left! Won't it?" and then whisper behind my back about how ingenious they are for making that up.

Sounds like my neighbor.

I locate the wound and guess that it was a blow to the head, since the skull had been badly cracked and was bleeding profusely. I made another surprising gesture by licking the blood away from the cut, tasting the metallic liquid as if it was a food source.

I know.

I knew from the moment that I saw crimson blood leaking on the gray carpet.

I am a vampire.

  


  


  


Tonight, things like street lamps seem brighter than ever, and I can see everything as if I have cat eyes with excellent night-vision. There is something that makes me want to go to the door again. I did eventually throw the rat in the trash can, but before I had, all its blood had been drained.

That force that pulled me to the door is back now, willing me to go out into the night to search for food. And I _am_ sorta hungry. I haven't eaten anything since last night, which was meatloaf, bread and butter, mashed potatoes and gravy, and diced pears in sauce. My last meal as a human, I thought.

I give into the force and walk out the door. I am dressed in amazing clothes of ebony black: tight pants, an open shirt that is extremely loose for me, and a trenchcoat to complete the ensemble. I don't remember these clothes ever belonging to me, but now they seem right. Almost like I was born in them, which seems highly impossible, yet conceivable.

What am I looking for? Even I don't know as I walk down a dark alley. But as I keep walking, I have the strangest sensation of déjà vu. It seems as if I have been here before, and after a while, I come to a rusted staircase outside an apartment building. The paint has been peeled away in some places and has the eerie sensation of being not too clean.

I climb the stairs, memories of a dream coming back to me. I was standing at the open window then, and jumped inside. I followed the movements and did the same as the vision.

Soon enough, I am soundlessly in a room, hearing the soft purr of a man's sleeping breath. This must be what it's like to have a husband who doesn't snore, I thought to myself as time passed. 

It felt as if an eternity had come and gone by the time I was looking down at the man's exposed neck. It is a creamy white, like that of the star in a black-and-white motion picture from the 1920's. Old horror films are my favorite, I tell myself as I trail one finger down the column of alabaster skin.

He shifts in his sleep, but I know he isn't awake. He must be dreaming as well. Too much of a good thing is bad, but I want to taste him. The feeling is raw, and it makes the muscles in my stomach jump. I close my eyes and see a gun pointed at my head, followed by the same guttural feeling as the one that I'm having right now.

My eyes fly open and I see the fuzzy outline of a crucifix. I jump back, knowing that I may be in extreme pain any minute. He chuckles and puts it back under his pillow, all the while watching me. How did he know? Beats me.

"I knew you were coming," he says in a low voice that almost scares me. "And, fortunately, I am prepared."

"With what?" I ask, snarling.

"This." He pulls out a flask of pure water, and it seems as if I can tell what it is without even reading a label (even though there isn't one). It's holy water.

"Get that stuff away from me," I growl through gritted teeth as I move back, pulling covers back with me. They wrap around me as I keep moving back, staying the _hell_ away from what's inside that little glass bottle.

"Afraid," he states. Hey I can't disagree: I'm scared shitless. All this is new to me, and all of it is being relayed through the thin lines of instinct. I want to drink his blood, kill him if possible. It doesn't occur to me that I might want to keep him, for any purpose, until now.

I look into those Prussian blue eyes and realize that my dream is alive and this is the person I love. Hello, might as well slap me 'cause I'm in fairy tale land. Soul mates. We are sitting in the same room, same bed even. He's threatening me with holy water that will make my blood boil and skin curl, and I'm sitting here doing nothing about it. Rain check? No, I need to do something, and I'm going to do it right now.

"Look," I say, getting up off the bed, "I can make a deal with you." Too bad that's a lie, but hell, if I can get away with it and come up on top, life's all good.

The man remains silent, but his eyes urge me on.

"You don't kill me and I'll…" Shit. I have no idea what I'll do for my life to be spared. Think, Duo, think. There has to be _something_ you can do to get you in a position to get blood. The vision of the little blonde in the grocery store with his porno-suggestive tag comes back to mind and I say the first thing that I think of: "I'll sleep with you."

"Deal," he says.

  


~~TBC


End file.
